


In the Air Tonight

by 3988Akasha



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 18:06:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3988Akasha/pseuds/3988Akasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the explosion, Miles experiences short term memory loss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Air Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> After seeing the preview where Miles gets blown up, I couldn't help but think about what would happen to him after...and then this happened.

Miles blinked slowly, the light so bright it stung his sensitive eyes. He tried to move his hand to shade them, but found his wrists restrained. Alarmed, he tugged on the restraints until his wrists hurt before giving up and forcing himself relax. He was alive, which he knew should make him feel better about his situation, but it didn’t. Every single cell in his body ached and now his eyes were watering from the harsh light in the rooms. Something about the light bothered him, but his head hurt too much for him to think about it too much.

“You’re awake.”

He didn’t recognize the voice and he couldn’t focus on the image of the person, it kept fading at the sides.

“He’ll be happy to know you’re not dead. Not that I know why, but that’s not my place to ask, is it?”

Miles didn’t understand any of it and he must have given the blurry figure a curious look because he heard laughter.

“Oh, sure. You’re confused now. We’ll see how long you can keep that up. I was warned about you.”

Miles opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out of his mouth. Instead he started coughing, his throat felt as though it’d been sandblasted.

“Drink this,” the voice said.

Eagerly, he slurped down the cold water, enjoying the way it soothed his throat. He wanted to say thank you, but didn’t want to risk hurting his throat again so he smiled.

“Oh you are good. But, it won’t work on me. Nice try though, points for effort.”

Miles didn’t say anything else as he heard the door close. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and settled back into the bed since he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Maybe if he slept some more he’d feel less like dying when he woke up again.

He must have slept because when he opened his eyes, the light wasn’t nearly as bright. Someone was in the room with him, but it wasn’t the same shapeless voice as earlier. Something about this presence was familiar to him. He looked around the room, his eyes fighting to see through the shadows.

“Hello, Miles.”

Relief flooded through his system and he smiled at the familiar voice. He felt himself relax more than he had been earlier because he knew he was safe now.

“Bass.”

He didn’t recognize the sound of his own voice, but he was glad he wasn’t coughing this time. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and felt his smile grow as he saw Bass move further into the room. When he saw Bass’ expression, his smile faded. Maybe he was hurt badly, maybe he’d lost a limb or something equally disfiguring. They’d talked about it out on patrols during their first deployment to Iraq. Something about the black humor was comforting as RPGs exploded in the distance, setting the night sky on fire.

“How bad is it? Both limbs? An ear?”

Bass looked confused as he finally came to stand next to the bed. Miles went to reach for him and the restraint pulled him back just as Bass flinched away from him. He didn’t know which bothered him worse, the fact that he was tied to the damn bed like some sort of criminal or the fact that Bass flinched away from him. If his injuries were that grotesque he would get one of those Phantom of the Opera masks like they’d discussed, let Bass paint it funny colors.

“What do you remember, Miles?”

It was an odd question, but at least he was talking. Miles thought back, but he couldn’t think of any reason for him to be restrained to a hospital bed. He looked around the room a bit more and couldn’t believe he was in a hospital. It had to be the worst hospital he’d ever seen. He wanted to make some joke about the rundown hospital they’d gone to just after their first deployment, in some small town in the Midwest. They’d been taking a road trip to California and Bass had come down with some sort of flu only curable to five or six experts, none of whom worked in the tiny little hospital. Miles thought he’d go crazy waiting for Ben to bring one of his doctor friends to the hospital, Bass had been too weak to be moved. None of that would help him figure out how he’d landed in this Amityville hospital, though.

“I don’t remember what happened,” Miles answered.

Bass shook his head in that way Miles knew meant he didn’t believe him, but was willing to indulge him for the moment.

“Do you know where you are?”

“In a bed.”

Not even a hint of a smile. Miles suddenly felt nauseated. Something strange was going on with Bass. It was more than his potentially life-altering disfiguration.

“I don’t have time for your games, Miles.”

“Games? I’m tied to a fucking bed, Bass. I’m not playing games. What the hell is going on?”

He watched some emotion flicker across Bass’ face that gave him hope for a brief moment, but it was quickly extinguish as a mask of indifference settled back over his face. Bass didn’t say anything, just gave Miles a look he couldn’t understand before turning on his heel and leaving.

“Bye, Bass,” Miles whispered to the empty room.

The pain in his body was back, every nerve ending felt as though it was on fire, but he didn’t care. Bass, his best friend in the universe, the man who knew him better than anyone else, just looked at him like a stranger. Miles couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like crying, not that his memory was what it used to be, apparently, but still. He wanted to curl up into a ball and cry until the world made sense again. He wouldn’t. Not here, not with a version of Bass that didn’t even know who he was, didn’t believe him, didn’t _care_. It had to be some new form of torture Georgia had concocted, which he found impressive given the limited resources post blackout. It was possible for them to have given him hallucinogens. Isn’t that one of the uses Miles had for Drexel’s heroin? He would just wait for the drugs to wear off, then he’d find a way out of this nightmare and back to Bass.

 

“I don’t think he’s that good an actor, sir.”

“You’re telling me he doesn’t remember anything?”

“I’m telling you he’s suffered a head trauma and it is possible for him to have some short-term memory loss.”

“Possible isn’t good enough, not with Miles Matheson.”

“Until his other injuries have healed, we may not know the extent of his memory loss. If he has lost memory, as I suspect, we have no way of determining if it will ever come back.”

“How long until we know?”

“That depends on how fast he heals. The more comfortable he feels, the faster the healing process will go.”

Miles kept his eyes close as their conversation seemed to come to an abrupt halt.

“We should discuss this somewhere else.”

“He’s asleep.”

“With Miles, I can’t afford to take any chances.”

Once he heard their footsteps fade down the hallway, Miles allowed himself to smile. At least Bass didn’t underestimate him. The smile didn’t last long because he could no longer believe he was being held by one of the other militias. He was being held in his own damn Republic. As he lay there, he thought through as much of his muddled memories as he could. There wasn’t a whole lot that was useful to him, not for his current situation. He remembered the lights going out, struggling to put together a working militia, finally getting things operational and then – nothing. It was as though someone had pulled the most recent memories from his mind.

If something had happened between him and Bass, which given Bass’ current manner, something _bad_ had happened, maybe he didn’t want his memories back. Maybe he would get lucky and they wouldn’t come back to him. He knew it was a pipe dream, knew he needed is memories back, even if they were unpleasant. Whatever it was, he could fix it. Whatever it was he wouldn’t allow it to come between him and Bass. Somewhat mollified by his new resolution, Miles allowed himself to fall back asleep, wondering if they were giving him some of Drexel’s magic flowers.

 

Miles woke up and wished he hadn’t. Before the pain had been sort of all consuming, but muted, due to the drugs. This time, he knew there were no drugs because he could take an accounting of all his injuries. He’d cracked a few ribs, probably did some serious damage to his lung, felt as though the majority of his body was covered in bruises, and at least one of his legs was broken. The worst was the headache that felt as though his head was being split in half. Miles brought his hand to his head and was so surprised to feel the gauze around his head that it took him a moment to realize his hands were no longer restrained to the bed.

“Morning.”

“Decided to trust me?”

Bass tilted his head and Miles still didn’t like the look in his eyes.

“You’ve broken your leg and at least three ribs. I don’t need to trust you to keep you from going anywhere.”

“Bass – ” Miles didn’t exactly know what to say. The whole thing felt awkward and strained. Plus, it was a lie and they both knew it. If Miles really wanted to leave, a broken leg and a few damaged ribs wouldn’t stop him. But, if Bass needed to believe the injuries would keep him around, then Miles would let him.

“I’ll have them bring you something nice for dinner.”

Before he could think of something to say, Bass left him alone again. Miles bashed his head back against the pillow, enjoying the stabbing pain it caused to shoot through his body. At least he was feeling something. The physical pain almost allowed him to forget about how cold Bass was, about how much Bass didn’t care. He thought about repeating the action, but didn’t think it would do his memory any good. Without the drugs, he knew it would be hard to sleep, but he needed to try. In sleep, he could pretend this Bass was _his_ Bass; in his dreams, Bass was the one to wipe the sweat from his brow, to tell him everything would be okay.

 

“AHHHHHH! YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

“Calm down.”

“What the hell is going on in here?”

“I had to re-break his leg. It wasn’t healing correctly.”

Bass smiled and Miles didn’t like it. It wasn’t a Bass smile, it wasn’t warm. It was cold and hard and bitter. Three things Miles never wanted Bass to feel, three things he swore he’d feel so Bass wouldn’t. He still couldn’t figure out what he’d done to make Bass smile at him like that, as though he were _enjoying_ seeing Miles in pain. As a fresh wave of nausea rolled through Miles’ stomach, he figured in this new hell he’d found himself in, anything was possible.

“Give him some,” Bass ordered.

“You said – ”

Bass’ look stopped the doctor’s sentence and Miles found himself admiring and fearing its effects. It wasn’t something Miles remembered, the look, like so many aspects of Bass, was new and terrifying. A small portion of his brain was relieved to know that Bass at least wanted him to be in less pain. Either that or Miles’ cries of pain were causing a disturbance in the Capital. Before waking up tied to the bed, he wouldn’t have even considered it, but now? Now, he couldn’t help but entertain the possibility that Bass would give him relief only to keep him quiet. The surety of that knowledge, the knowledge that Bass had changed so much, made him want to never get his memories back. He never wanted to know what had broken Bass so completely.

“Take this,” the doctor said as he held a pill out to Miles.

Miles looked past the doctor to Bass. He watched Bass’ face, watched him blink in surprise that he was seeking advice, an okay from him. For a moment, Bass almost looked like himself, or rather like the Bass Miles remembered. He gave Miles a smile, not the bitter, jaded, broken smile that Miles was becoming begrudgingly accustomed to, but a real smile. The small one they reserved for each other. It gave Miles hope. When Bass gave a brief nod though, the smile faded and something haunted passed his eyes. Miles wouldn’t let go of his piece of hope though. It was small, but it was there, it was real, and he would make sure it was enough. Miles returned the smile and took the pills from the doctor and soon the magic concoction had Miles fast asleep.

 

He wanted out of the hospital bed more than he wanted two fingers of whiskey. His leg was finally cooperating, which meant the doctor no longer wanted to break it and his ribs only hurt when he breathed. Other than that, he was fine. Except for the part of the day when Bass would come in to _visit_. Their interactions consisted of Bass coming in, asking him a few vague questions he assumed were determined to call his bluff on the amnesia which Bass still thought Miles was faking. It bothered him because Miles still trusted Bass implicitly. He still wanted to confide in him, still wanted to tell him everything, but the problem was he didn’t know what to tell. He didn’t know what was missing from his mind, didn’t know what to do to fix whatever it was that had been broken in their relationship.

Every time Bass was in the room, standing next to his bed, he wanted to reach out and pull Bass closer to the bed, wanted to wrap his arms around him and hold on forever. The only reason he didn’t was because he knew Bass wouldn’t be receptive, might even kill him. Which wasn’t exactly the preferable option, but something had to give in this stalemate they’d been locked into before he did something he’d regret _and_ remember.

“Miles, you’re awake,” Bass greeted as he walked into the room.

“Bass, come to test my fake amnesia again?”

“You must be feeling better today. You know, Miles, this doesn’t have to be painful. You could just tell me what you remember. Give up the ruse,” Bass laughed. “We’re all impressed; did you know Jeremy’s running a pool?”

“I’m sure he’s stacked it in his favor.”

Bass smiled, and it was a little warmer than it had been previously. He refused to give into the power of Bass’ smile though, not while things were still so awkward between them. Bass wasn’t telling him anything about the parts of his memory that were missing, and Miles couldn’t come up with anything to tell Bass. They kept talking in circles about whatever it was that had caused the chasm between them and Miles was tired of the games. Tired of the hospital, which he finally recognized – it was the one in the prison. He was in the prison. His best friend was holding him in the prison.

“Are you ever just going to tell me why I’m here?”

“As soon as you start telling me the truth, I’ll let you out of here.”

“You’re a piss poor liar, Bass. Even this version of you. If you had any intention of letting me go, you wouldn’t have me locked up in the prison.”

“I see some of that memory is coming back to you.”

Miles looked at Bass as though he’d lost his mind, which considering he was the one with the supposed amnesia was pretty amazing. He could feel Bass baiting him. It was an interrogation technique _he’d_ taught him, and Miles thought he’d taught him better. Clearly, they’d have to have a refresher course once Bass told him what was really going on around here. Being aware enough to recognize the prison wasn’t the same as a memory. It just proved he was finally free of pain long enough to be aware of his surroundings.

“You want to know what I know, Bass?” Miles snapped. “I know that even though I woke up restrained to a damn bed, when I heard your voice, I knew I was safe. I knew you’d take care of me. This is what I don’t know – I don’t know when you started looking at me like I was a stranger or why, but damnit, it’s me, Bass. It’s me and it’s you…and after everything, Iraq, Afghanistan – Trenton, it’s always got to be me and you.”

Something shattered in Bass’ eyes the longer Miles spoke. The detached, aloofness he’d been carrying around like a shield broke. Miles watched the tears gather in his eyes, watched his face break down into a completely wrecked expression. It hurt to see it, but at least it was real. At least it was something he could trust.

“Damn you, Miles. Damn you.”

When Bass slammed the door behind him, Miles wasn’t sure if that was a victory or a defeat.

 

“You’re a quick healer,” the doctor commented as he poked and prodded at Miles’ tender ribs.

He curled his lip and resisted the urge to punch the man in the face. Being this close to getting out of the bed, he didn’t want to do anything to spook Bass. Not that he’d seen him in weeks, but still. He figured word of him punching his doctor wouldn’t exactly make Bass trust him more.

“I’m going to put your leg in a cast, get you out of this bed. Your lung is healing nicely. Does is still hurt when you breathe?”

“No.”

“Good. Enjoy that now. It’ll hurt when you’re up and moving, but we need to get you out of the bed, keep your muscles from going into atrophy. We can get you out of my hospital bay in a few days.”

Miles snorted, out of the hospital and into a cell. He doubted Bass was counting down the days until he was up and walking around. In fact, he was surprised Bass was putting him in a cast at all. Given the less than warm welcome he’d received, he wondered why Bass was fixing him up at all. It wasn’t fair to think that, but he couldn’t make any sense of Bass’ attitude and no one was offering up any information, but they were all just as cold. He hissed in a breath as the doctor positioned his leg for the cast. It wasn’t as nice as the fiberglass casts, but the plaster of Paris would make him mobile.

Miles smiled as he remembered the first time Bass had broken his wrist. They’d been in elementary school and they’d just discovered how much they loved riding bikes. Back home, they’d found the bike hills at the park near Miles’ house and each day they’d go down and jump off increasingly higher and higher hills. Miles found one that most of the other kids were afraid of and made it his life’s mission to conquer the hill. Like always, Bass had followed him. They’d both gone off the hill and the crash was epic. Miles had sprained his ankle, but Bass had broken his wrist.

“I’d never been that scared before,” Miles began, knowing Bass could hear him from his place by the door. “You screamed so loudly. There wasn’t any blood, not on your wrist and I couldn’t figure out what the hell was wrong with you. I picked you up and carried you back to the house. I bet Ben nearly pissed himself when I collapsed on the front porch.”

“You wanted to go back for the bikes, but Ben wouldn’t let you leave the house. He made you sit on the couch with your foot on the stool. I thought you were going to murder him when he put the ice on your ankle.”

“You wouldn’t stop making the most agonizing noises. It was like someone was killing you,” Miles held Bass’ gaze. “I wanted to get the bikes so I could destroy them. I couldn’t believe you’d been hurt like that. When your father got there, I thought he was going to go bury me under one of those bike hills. He didn’t like me much after that day.”

“My dad never really liked you much. Although my mom and my sisters? They adored you. They both wanted to marry you and mom probably would have let them.”

“That was the most uncomfortable conversation I’d ever had. I knew if I screwed it up, you’d beat the shit out of me. They knew the truth before anyone else because of that. I had to tell them I couldn’t marry either them because I already had someone I loved,” Miles smiled at Bass.

The silence was overwhelming and Miles desperately wished he’d just kept his mouth shut. It was the first time he’d seen Bass in weeks and now he’d said something that clearly wasn’t the right thing and this was why he didn’t talk a lot. He always managed to say the wrong thing. Bass’ face was white as a sheet; his eyes were wide and full of unshed tears. He reminded Miles of a deer that just heard something in the woods and was poised to flee.

“Miles – ”

“Bass – ”

They both laughed a bit nervously, the sort of laugh that two people share during an awkward moment. It was the laugh of strangers and Miles hated it. Bass’ face was closed down again, the hard edge back to his features. The doctor came back in with a tub full of plaster of Pairs and Bass took the opportunity to sneak out the door. Miles couldn’t blame him though, not really. He could blame the doctor though. Once he was on his feet again, he was going to kill the doctor.

 

Miles hated the cast more than anything in his entire existence. Including his ribs, which were a close second. The doctor hadn’t been joking about the pain once he was back on his feet. He almost wished it was a gunshot wound, at least that pain would be familiar. True to his word, the doctor had moved him out of the hospital room, and like Miles had suspected, he’d been relegated to a prison cell. Now that he was one his feet, he wanted to move, wanted to see what the hell was going on in his Republic, to see if he could figure out what had caused Bass to hate him.

Except that wasn’t it, not really. Miles knew Bass, knew him better than anyone and he knew what Bass was like when he hated someone. This wasn’t it. This was pain, this was hurt, this was Bass protecting himself – and it appeared he was protecting himself from Miles. No one else had been to see him, not Jeremy, not Tom. If nothing else, he expected one or both of them to come by to gloat about their probably elevated status within the Republic. Maybe he didn’t have any right to sound bitter, but he did.

“I wonder why you haven’t just sent Strausser into here to beat the information out of me,” Miles called to Bass. He wondered why the man bothered to try sneaking past his cell. They both knew he’d be able to hear him, be able to sense him lurking in the shadows.

“Miles,” Bass began, a hint of dark humor in his voice, “we both know that wouldn’t work. Strausser would never be able to get any information out of you – not without killing you.”

“Given your mood, I’m surprised you haven’t let him try.”

Bass gave him a curious look. He was missing something about this conversation.

“That’s something I’m supposed to remember, isn’t it? Is that what happened? Strausser get a little carried away?”

“You – ” his voice broke on the word. “I forgave you for _everything_ and that’s what you think of me?”

Miles walked to the cell door. “Forgave me for what, Bass? You can’t keep blaming me for something I don’t remember doing, not without telling me.”

“You think I’d hand you over to Strausser, Miles. I don’t have to blame you for what you don’t remember. I can blame you for that.”

“You’ve been blaming you for something long before I mentioned Strausser. Do whatever you’ve gotta do. Keep blaming me for something I don’t remember, but if you had the doc patch me up just to keep me at a distance in this damn cell…”

This time he expected Bass’ face to shut down, and it had almost quit hurting to see it, too. Part of him thought he should be trying to be more charming, to be nicer about it all, but it was exhausting and it wasn’t getting him anywhere. Bass had always been the moody one and Miles knew he would stop when he was ready.

 

It was another week before he was moved from the cell and Miles smiled, not that he was sure it was a victory. He didn’t recognize the men who escorted him from the prison, which he figured was planned, but he wasn’t in cuffs so maybe Bass finally figured out he wasn’t a flight risk. Not that he knew where he’d go. This was his home, even it if was a surreal version of the one he remembered. He was moved through the streets of Philadelphia during the middle of the night, fewer questioning eyes he supposed. He was surprised to be taken to his own rooms though.

A fire was blazing in the room as the door was shut behind him. He smiled as he heard it lock from the outside. Using the crutches was a pain, but at least he could move around. He took in all the details of his room, looking for something that might tell him what the hell had happened. Everything looked the same though. Even his whiskey. Miles poured himself a generous portion and settled himself in front of the fire, his leg propped up on the stool. When he closed his eyes, he could pretend things were normal.

“What now?” Miles asked as he heard the backdoor open.

“The rumors are true then.”

Miles smirked into his drink. “I’m surprised it took you so long to come around, Jeremy.”

“Well, you know orders…”

“Never stopped you before.”

“True. He was keeping you hidden away in the prison. Does it feel weird, being back?”

“You’re going to play mind games with me to?”

“Is that what you think Bass is doing?”

Miles sighed. He didn’t know what Bass was doing. He barely knew what he was doing.

“You harder to kill than a cockroach, you know? Luckiest son of a bitch I’ve ever met. No one expected you to survive that explosion. I lost a large chunk of gold on that bet. Your own men left you behind, you know. Bass wouldn’t though. After everything, he wouldn’t just let you die.”

“I’m tired and the pain pills aren’t coming as frequently as they were in the prison, so if you’re going to going to stand there and be annoying, get the hell out.”

“Oh, I do regret not shooting you when I had the chance.”

“Most people do,” Miles replied. He heard the door close again and slumped further into the chair. He didn’t understand Jeremy’s statement, but that was becoming normal for him, not understanding things around here. Since when did Jeremy want to kill him? What explosion? _His_ people? He wanted another drink, but wasn’t sure the drink would be worth the trip across the room.

As he watched the fire, Miles willed his eyes to close, knowing sleep would help him recover faster, but it didn’t work. Every time he closed his eyes he pictured Bass. It hurt because the Bass he imagined was smiling at him, welcoming him home with a smile and a hug. They would end the day at the table, a nice meal, a few drinks. Some nights Bass would read to him as they sat in front of the fire. Miles always took those moments to rememorize every inch of Bass’ body. He’d trace the lines of Bass’ arms, the contours of his muscles. He’d always teased Bass about his soft skin, his hands smooth from lotion and care – the hands of a diplomat. They were powerful though, Miles absently traced a scar he had on his upper arm. It was the result of an ill placed defense and Bass had pressed his advantage. Miles smiled as he remembered the way Bass had fussed over him, worried that he’d somehow broken him. He’d tried to reassure Bass that it would take more than an oversized paper cut to keep him down, but Bass had been insistent on tending to the wound himself. Part of him loved the attention, the way Bass’ fingers felt as they wrapped the gauze around his arm. He’d changed the dressing each night, his fingers feather light across his skin.

He forced his eyes open, chasing away the image of _his_ Bass. Not that it really helped because he could feel the phantom touch of Bass’ fingers against his skin. He knew where Bass was, knew Bass would be in his room. Knew he could walk down the hall and into Bass’ room, the locks on the door a mere suggestion. He wouldn’t though, not tonight. Tonight the emotions were too near the surface and he needed to be rational around Bass, not emotional. So, he pushed himself up from the chair and hobbled over to the bed. Tonight he’d sleep alone in his bed for the first time in years.

 

“I thought you’d be out terrorizing the troops,” Bass said in lieu of greeting.

Miles threw another log on the fire as he turned to face Bass.

“You’ve had my door locked from the outside for more than a week. That wasn’t exactly a red carpet welcome.”

“I’d’ve thought you’d be eager to leave.”

“Where the hell am I going to go?”

Bass looked at him for a moment before laughing a bit manically, and Miles didn’t know what was going on again. It was part of the memories he was meant to have, but didn’t.

“It would be so easy to just forget everything with you. To believe this was real, to believe that it would last. Do you have any idea how much I want to believe you, Miles? It’s impossible, having you here, but not having you here. This is the worst kind of hell I can imagine, knowing that at any moment you could just disappear again,” Bass raked a hand through his hair. “Maybe I should just give in to the moment. Maybe I should just let this be whatever it is…maybe I should hope your memory never comes back, but I can’t. Neither of us is that lucky and I can’t live in this limbo forever, never knowing which Miles I’m going to have next to me.”

“I’m standing right here,” Miles said as he moved closer to Bass. “I’m standing right here.”

Bass looked into his eyes and Miles held his breath, hoping it was going to work, hoping he’d be able to take Bass into his arms and reassure them both that he was real, that he was here and that he wasn’t leaving.

Bass brought his hand up and gently caressed Miles’ cheek. He leaned into it, his eyes fluttering closed as he allowed himself to indulge in the feeling of closeness.

“But for how long, Miles?”

Miles blinked his eyes open just to see Bass backing away from him, eyes full of regret. He forced his hands to stay by his sides, fought the urge to reach out and drag Bass back to him. The hope he’d been carefully tending since the beginning of this nightmare flared back to life. He felt it in Bass’ touch, that familiarity, that sense of _them._

“Bass,” Miles called as Bass reached the door. He waited until Bass turned around, even if the movement was hesitant. “I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t you say that to me. Don’t make me promises you can’t possibly keep. No you.”

“I’m not. I’ve never left you, Bass. Never.”

“You did!”

Miles stumbled back as though he’d been hit. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think…it wasn’t real; it couldn’t be because he’d never leave Bass. But, he could see the truth of it in the lines of pain etched into Bass’ face and it was the darkness lurking in his eyes. He’d done the unthinkable. He didn’t remember it and couldn’t imagine any scenario in which he would abandon Bass. He’d die before he’d hurt his best friend like that. Jeremy’s words floated back to him, _Your men left you behind._

“It wasn’t me.”

Bass gave that same maniacal laugh. “That’s the worst part of this. I know it wasn’t you. Because you don’t remember it. You don’t remember leaving. But, you’ll remember. One day you’ll remember it all and I’ll have a new memory of this nightmare. I want you to be real. I want to believe this. I want you to be here, with me. I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life and it’s killing me because I won’t survive it again, Miles. I won’t live if you leave me again. And you will because you’ll remember how much you hate me, how much I disgust you and you’ll be gone.”

Miles didn’t have anything to say. He didn’t know what to do, so he just stood there and watched Bass walk out of the room. Again.

 

They no longer locked his room, but he didn’t feel like leaving. Everyone looked at him as though they knew the truth, but he knew most of them just suspected. Bass wouldn’t tell the men something like that. Not to save Miles, but to save the Republic. Solidarity was needed in leadership, a union of the people in charge. If Miles had _defected_ , it wouldn’t be good for the Republic to have it be common knowledge. At least he knew why Jeremy had wanted to kill him, and after knowing the truth for himself, a part of him wished he had, too.

Bass was avoiding him still, but he had someone outside his door whenever he wanted something. Recently, it had just been more liquor. He wanted to force himself to remember, wanted to know what could have caused him to leave Bass. Mostly he wanted to know so that he could fix it, so that he could make a different choice, so that he could choose to stay. He knew Bass wouldn’t allow himself to believe him, which is why he hadn’t sought him out to plead his case. Once his memory was back, Miles would make Bass trust him again, would do whatever it took to win him back. Miles knew he was nothing without him and no memory he might acquire would change that.

 

“What are you doing in my bed?”

Miles smiled as he rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. His movements were still awkward with the cast, but he was managing. He watched Bass walk further into the room, light the lamp beside the bed.

“You’ve been avoiding me. I missed you.”

“Miles, I’m tired and I have more of the same crap to deal with in the morning. I don’t have time to play games with you.”

“I’m not playing. Come to bed.” Miles scooted to his side of the bed and patted the space next to him.

“Miles – ”

“You haven’t told me to leave.”

Bass sat on the edge of the bed and began taking off his boots. Miles turned onto his back and settled into bed. He couldn’t stand being so close to Bass and so far away at the same time. The door had been locked and the guards outside Bass’ room weren’t entirely cooperative, but at least he hadn’t had to kill them.

When he felt Bass settle into the bed, he forced himself to keep to his side of the bed. He could feel the warmth of Bass’ body, smell his scent, but he didn’t want to push it. He didn’t think he’d be able to leave if Bass told him to and it seemed as though Bass had made the same resolution because Miles could feel him keeping his body still – Bass never slept still. It was part of the reason Miles would wrap his arms around Bass, and sometimes his legs, too. It was the only way to keep Bass from moving all over the bed; it used to keep Miles up at night. Although, it still didn’t keep Bass from taking up the majority of the bed and sprawling across Miles’ chest and he smiled as he thought about it. Not that he’d admit it out loud, and he’d shoot anyone who suggested it, but Miles enjoyed the feel of Bass’ body covering his own.

He knew he was dreaming, the soft hair tickling his nose had to be a manifestation of his imagination, which he would thank later. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep without another drink, Miles moved to roll out of bed, but found his movement restricted. His eyes flew open and he peered into the darkness. He looked down and found the reason he couldn’t roll from the bed. Bass was in his arms. And he wasn’t dreaming. He’d managed to stay on his side of the bed, but Bass had rolled into his arms, his head was tucked up under Miles’ chin. Miles brought his hand up and lightly ran his fingers up and down Bass’ spine, feeling Bass still against him once more. He settled himself, holding Bass to him and fell back into a deep sleep.

He woke up with the sun, its light peeking through the shades. Part of him expected to wake up alone in the bed, knowing Bass might not chose to be in his arms when he was awake, but luckily he’d woken up first so he could continue to enjoy the feel of Bass in his arms. Things were at best strained between them, but that knowledge wasn’t enough to keep Miles from slipping his hands under Bass’ shirt, from tracing the lines of his torso. Bass snuggled back against him, forcing Miles’ morning boner into his ass. His eyes rolled back in their sockets, the feel of Bass like this incredible.

“Miles, don’t tease.”

Miles froze, Bass’ voice soft and gravely with sleep. He didn’t know what he was asking, not really. But his body did. Miles bit his lip as Bass’ ass shimmied against his groin, as Bass turned his head so that his lips rested against Miles’ neck. This was the time for Miles to be the strong one for them, the one to recognize that this wasn’t his Bass, no matter how much it felt like it was, but he wasn’t that strong. Because he’d missed the feel of Bass in his arms, because he’d wanted to _feel_ Bass he wasn’t going to be strong enough to say no, to push him away when Bass’ lips were pressing kisses to his throat.

Using his free hand, Miles moved Bass’ head to the side, exposing the long column of his neck. He laid a series of kisses along the tendon, his other hand trailing up to rub teasingly against Bass’ nipple. Bass moaned as his body writhed under Miles’ ministrations. He didn’t know how much longer he had before Bass became awake enough to shove him away and quite possibly shoot him between the eyes, but it would be worth it, he thought as he continued to kiss Bass’ neck. Miles moved his hand lower, trailing his fingers across Bass’ bellybutton, down to the band of his boxers. Teasingly, Miles ran his fingers just below the elastic, slowly moving them lower, enjoying the way Bass’ breath became more staccato. Unable to tease himself anymore, Miles wrapped his hand around Bass’ dick, feeling the familiar weight of it in his hand, enjoying the way Bass pushed his ass harder against Miles’ dick and he began to move his hand up and down Bass’ shaft. The skin was silky smooth, and Miles knew Bass enjoyed the contrast of his calloused fingers against his sensitive flesh.

Miles increased his pace, wanting to get Bass off before he came to his senses and threw Miles from the bed. His body knew the motions as surely as they knew anything and he moved his free hand up to gently grasp Bass’ neck, thumb stroking his throat in time with his hand. He could feel Bass’ moan vibrate against his hand and Miles latched his teeth onto Bass’ neck, needing to taste him, to know the feel of his skin beneath his lips again. Bass’ back bowed away from him at the sensation, Miles groaning against his neck as the movement forced Bass’ ass harder against his painfully hard dick. He knew Bass was close, he’d always been easy to get off early in the morning.

“I’ve got you,” Miles whispered. “Let go, Bass.”

Miles worked his hand up and down Bass’ shaft a few more times before he felt Bass stiffen, then collapse, Miles’ hand covered in Bass’ come. He didn’t breathe, as he waited for Bass to turn to him, fire blazing in his eyes, and throw him out of the room. Instead, Bass turned in his arms and captured Miles’ lips in a ferocious kiss. It was punishing, but Miles just settled back against the mattress and took it all. He would take whatever Bass wanted to give him. Bass’ fingers tangled in Miles’ hair, pulling on it painfully, but Miles only fisted his hands in the sheets, determined to give this to Bass, to let him get it all out of his system, to take whatever he needed from Miles because even though he couldn’t remember it, Miles knew he owed him at least that much.

“Why couldn’t you have just killed me?”

Miles didn’t know what to say. He’d never tried to kill Bass, wouldn’t ever try to kill Bass. It was insane, but so was him leaving, and clearly he’d done that, but killing Bass? Never. He’d sooner shoot himself than kill Bass. Hesitantly, he reached up, wanting to reassure Bass, but before his hand could find its way to Bass’ hair, Bass had rolled off him and was standing next to the bed, eyes wild, his breath hissing through his lips in harsh pants. It was the sexiest thing in the world, even if it bothered the rational part of Miles’ brain. He knew Bass looked like that because at some point Miles had tried to kill him. Miles had _left him_ and tried to _kill him_.

Miles watched as Bass shook himself back together, watched the walls slam down around him, a defensive mechanism designed specially to keep Miles out of his head. It hurt, but Miles was proud to see Bass had been able to do something to help himself deal with Miles’ – there wasn’t a word for it. What word did you apply to the ultimate betrayal possible? Was there some label he could attach to his actions? Every word he could think of fell short of what he actually felt at knowing he’d willingly left the Republic, and intentionally tried to kill Bass.

“Go, Miles. Just go.”

Miles nodded. He wasn’t sure how far Bass wanted him to go, but he knew needed to get out of the room. Miles couldn’t trust himself to stay there any longer. He wanted to prostate himself before Bass and beg for forgiveness he didn’t deserve for a crime he didn’t remember. He rolled from the bed, staggered over to where he’d left his crutches and hobbled out of the room.

 

Bass hadn’t been to see him since _that morning_ and Miles didn’t expect him to, it’s also why he hadn’t sought out Bass either. He still didn’t remember leaving or – or the other thing. For all that Miles didn’t want to think about it, he found himself spending more of his time doing that than anything else, other than drinking. A part of him kept expecting the guy at the door to tell him to fuck off and refuses to get him anymore whiskey, but that never happened.

The nightmares were worse when he drank, but that didn’t stop him from pouring another two fingers. He hoped tonight’s nightmare offered some variety. Usually, they were fairly straight forward dreams. He would be in front of the entire militia, his uniform sharp, and Bass would be on his knees, tied to a post. Miles would leap elegantly from his horse, which is how Miles first knew it was a dream. He hated riding horses, and really wasn’t all that good at it. That had always been Bass’ forte. But, he would land lightly on his feet and saunter up to Bass, reach down and cup his face. He’d offer a Judas kiss, then step back and shoot Bass between the eyes.

Miles hobbled from the bed as quickly as he could and struggled with his pants, which were less cooperative than they were most mornings and threw a shirt on before pulling on his one boot. He didn’t bother tying it because if he fell and broke his skull, it would just make things that much easier. He hobbled past the men who were always hovering by his door. It was like having really annoying valets. They never tried to stop him, never even said anything other than a grunt of acknowledgement when he asked for something.

It was difficult to hobble with purpose, but it’s what Miles was doing as he moved down the main hallway of Independence Hall. At the main entrance, he found two guards who looked at him curiously, but didn’t make any move to restrain him. Clearly Bass didn’t care where he went.

“Where’s Captain Baker?”

They looked at him without answering. He rolled his eyes as they exchanged a confused look.

“I’m in a bit of a hurry and I’m not known for my patience. Where is he?”

They exchanged another look and Miles was about to beat one of them with his crutches when the one nearest him answered.

“He should be out at the artillery range. He usually trains the recruits at this time of day. I’d hurry, sir, he’s due in a meeting with the Colonel’s within the hour.”

Miles cursed and didn’t waste his time thanking the guards as he hopped down the front steps. It was a ways out to the range, which normally wouldn’t be a problem, but Miles couldn’t walk, let alone get himself up on a horse. He was determined though, so he pushed himself harder than he probably should to make it out to the range before Jeremy left the range.

It couldn’t be, but Miles stopped dead in his tracks, nearly fell over in the process. He’d never forget the sound, but he couldn’t believe it was real. Reflexively, he looked up and thought he was hallucinating, but it was still there after a series of repetitive blinks. There was a helicopter up in the air, the ‘M’ of the republic on the nose. Miles shook his head, a smile on his face. Bass had finally figured out how to get the power on. The smile faded. Something felt off about seeing the helicopter, like he’d seen it before – recently, like the lights in the hospital, it bothered him. When he shook his head, the feeling was gone.

Miles sped his pace as much as he could, wanting to make up for the time he’d lost staring at the sky. The recruits were securing the weapons when Miles arrived, panting in an embarrassing manner, but he’d made it. Jeremy saw him, but didn’t acknowledge him which didn’t bother Miles as much as it should have.

“What do you want, Miles?” Jeremy asked once all the recruits were gone. “I’m going to be late for a meeting.”

“You hate those meetings.”

Jeremy smiled. “I do. What do you want?”

“I want you to shoot me.”

Jeremy laughed, which wasn’t the reaction Miles thought he’d get.

“That amnesia made you stupid, too? I can’t shoot you. Much as I might want to, I can’t.”

“You know what I did. I know you want to shoot me. I can see it in your eyes.”

“I’m guessing Bass finally told you what you did. I’m betting he left the order out though – ”

Miles wasn’t following and the knowing smirk on Jeremy’s face confirmed it.

“You left. Just disappeared. No one knew what was going on, no one knew why you’d left or where you’d gone. Nothing too exciting at first, but then you didn’t come home.”

“I know that.”

“No, you’ve been told that. You don’t know a damn thing.”

Jeremy pulled out a stool and set it up for Miles.

“Sit before you fall over.”

Miles made a face, but did it anyway.

“You left, were gone for a long time, too. But, then you came back. Snuck back into the Capital in the dead of the night, past all the guards and into Bass’ room. You came back just to kill him. Held a gun to his head, but you didn’t pull the trigger. That’s why I can’t kill you. I’m not a fool and I know that if you wanted Bass dead, he’d be dead. You didn’t kill him. Whatever _issues_ the two of you were – are having, it wasn’t enough for you to kill him.”

Miles held his head in his hands. He wanted so desperately to remember what happened, what had gone wrong. No, he didn’t, not really. He didn’t want to know a world where he’d held a gun to Bass’ head, but at least he hadn’t pulled the trigger. That was something he’d never forgive himself for. He felt Jeremy’s hand land on his shoulder.

“Word of advice when you get your memories back? Focus on why you _didn’t_ shoot Bass, not why you wanted to.”

Miles nodded his head, but he knew Jeremy had already walked away.

 

“It was raining,” Miles whispered as he lit the lamp next to Bass’ bed.

He watched Bass blink his eyes open, saw him flinch when he saw the gun on Miles’ thigh. Miles tapped it with his hand.

“The night I came in and held a gun to your head. It was raining.”

“I was sleeping then, too.”

Bass sat up in the bed and Miles watched the sheet slide down his chest. He loved the way Bass looked when he was sleepy, his hair ruffled, his eyes warm.

“You remember.”

“I remember.”

“Why are you still here?”

“Where else would I be?”

“Jeremy’s bet had you halfway to Georgia the moment you got your memory back.”

Miles smirked. “He’ll be disappointed.”

“Why – ”

“I couldn’t shoot you. When I was standing here with the gun pointed to your head, I couldn’t think of a single reason to shoot you. All I could see was your eyes looking up at me and the way you just kept _looking_ at me. I thought about everything we’d been through together and I couldn’t do it.”

“None of that kept you from running away.”

“I thought you’d want me dead. I deserved for you to want me dead.”

“You came back to kill me again, Miles.”

“And you asked me to stay – again.”

Bass smiled bitterly. “That’s what’s so screwed up about this. I’ll _always_ ask you to stay. After you left, after you tried to kill me…I hunted down everyone you’d managed to get past. I killed them all for failing to protect me. I couldn’t have done the same to you. Even if Tom or Jeremy had managed to bring you in, I couldn’t have done it.”

“You didn’t have any trouble giving that order the last time I was here.”

“I regretted it the moment the order was past my lips. I don’t know what I would have done if they’d managed to hit you.”

Miles chuckled. “Jeremy was right. That’s why he didn’t shoot. He had me, too. The men with him took shots, but Jeremy just stood there with his arms crossed. He wanted to kill me, but he wouldn’t – because of you.”

“Jeremy still talks too much.”

“Yeah, he does. But, he’s right. I thought about all the reasons I didn’t, couldn’t, pull the trigger. There’s something I didn’t tell you. In the tunnels, when we were coming into Philly – ”

Miles looked up, met Bass’ open gaze. It hurt, everything about this hurt because Bass wasn’t the only one holding on to someone they should probably just let go of, he was too. Both of them. They’d die before they let go, and he finally knew that. Knew nothing, not running away, nothing would change that.

“There was no oxygen. Wheatley was leading us into a trap. There was no oxygen and we were all dying. Suffocation. I started hallucinating, I didn’t know it at the time, but when I was dying, the only thing I could think about was you. All I wanted was for you to smile at me, open your arms and give me a hug.”

Bass choked on a sound and Miles couldn’t decide if it was a laugh or a sob. He remembered every excruciating moment of that conversation. The way Bass had looked at him, eyes open and vulnerable and asked him to come home. Bass had given him everything Miles knew he wanted, and he wasn’t naive enough to believe the dream had been a fluke.

“Truth is, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be out there – without you. Not anymore.”

“What about your _family_?”

Miles didn’t like the way Bass spat the word out of his mouth like poison, didn’t like knowing he was the reason it tasted so bitter in his mouth.

“They’re not my family, Bass. They’re my blood. You – you’re my family. I’ve known that the whole time. I can’t keep running.”

“So don’t. Come home, Miles.”

Miles blinked at Bass. He was always caught off guard by how simple everything was for Bass. How even after _everything_ Bass still just wanted to forgive and forget. He was always the one to make concessions for them, to be understanding, to make the sacrifices. It made Miles feel like an unworthy piece of shit, which is part of why he’d never come back. Everything was always so simple with Bass, for Bass, when it came to them. Things were always good when they were together and bad when they were apart. It was true, too. Even for Miles, who overcomplicated everything about their world, about their relationship.

“I know you don’t want to kill me. You know I can’t kill you.”

Miles looked at Bass, looked at the depth of emotion in his eyes. He felt the truth of Bass’ words in his bones. He’d spent the day thinking about everything. Ever since his memories had come back, he’d thought about every reason he had for not killing Bass. They’d been through everything imaginable, and some pretty unimaginable things, too. No matter what stupid shit Miles pulled, or put them through, Bass was always there for him. Bass was always the one to pull him up, to push him forward, to follow him. He remembered accusing Bass of changing, of becoming someone unrecognizable, but he knew that wasn’t fair.

Not given to lots of self-reflection, Miles had simply acted on his fear. It was simpler, at least, he’d thought it would be simpler to run away from everything he knew he’d created. It was that same impulse that took him back to Philly the first time, that impulse that had him pulling a gun on his best friend. When it came to it, when it came down to making a decision, Miles couldn’t do it. Miles couldn’t shoot Bass. So he ran.

“I don’t deserve it.”

“I know.”

Miles rubbed his brow, a slight smile on his face. Just like he’d suspected, Bass was just going to forgive and forget again.

“How many times are you going to be the better man? Aren’t you ever just going to kick me to the curb?”

“As many times as it takes,” Bass ducked his head a bit, a slightly embarrassed smile on his face. “And never, Miles. Never.”

Miles laughed, it sounded breathy, like he couldn’t quite believe it. Which he couldn’t, not really. Things shouldn’t be this easy, this simple. Not after everything they’d put each other through. Not after everything he’d put Bass through. That was why he ran, why he _always_ ran. He could never atone for what he’d done, for everything and he couldn’t face himself, couldn’t face Bass. But, he needed to; he needed to make it right.

“Miles, stop thinking. Just come to bed.”

Miles looked down at Bass, watched him scoot over and make room for him in the bed. He nodded and he watched the lines in Bass’ face relax. It made him feel better, knowing he’d done _something_ to make Bass feel a little better. Miles secured the gun he’d had on his thigh the whole conversation, clicking the safety into place felt like a promise and he set it on the bedside table.  As he toed off his boots and pulled his shirt over his head, he could feel Bass’ eyes on him the whole time. Miles hopped to the edge of the bed and swung his leg onto it, more than ready to have the cast off his leg.

Bass had scooted across the bed and snuggled himself against Miles before Miles had really settled himself in the bed. It made him smile, knowing this time Bass truly wanted to be in his arms. Miles pulled him closer, dragged Bass’ upper body across his own, Bass leg falling between his. Miles pressed a kiss to the top of Bass’ head as he felt Bass’ breathing even out against his neck. For the first time in years, Miles closed his eyes, knowing he was home.

**~FIN~**

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd you know the drill.


End file.
